Binding Rose: A Dark Mafia Romance(80)

“A man who knows what he wants. Your wife is one lucky lady,” Morgan coos, her hungry eyes scanning me from top to bottom with a newfound appreciation now that she knows how deep my pockets are.

“Yes, I am,” Rosa chimes in, throwing daggers at the agent, not one bit impressed this woman is brazenly flirting with her fake husband.

I tilt Rosa’s chin to the side and gently caress her face.

“As am I,” I whisper, placing a small kiss to the tip of her nose.

Her gaze turns soft, and her body begins to melt into my embrace, almost as if she’s forgotten that this is just a game and that I’m not really her husband.

If only I were.

I would treat her like the fucking queen she is.

Not a whore to be passed around between my men.

When the real estate agent clears her throat, it’s enough to break the little spell Rosa and I were momentarily under.

“How about I show you around then?”

Rosa pulls away from my embrace and offers the woman a thin smile.

“Yes. Please.”

“Very well, let’s go in.”

For the next half hour, Morgan shows us around the large estate, talking about original crown molding and marble kitchen counters that came all the way from Italy. I zone her out for most of her babble and focus on the siren that gracefully walks around each room, completely spellbound by the home. The way her body moves and glides around every room makes me feel like I’m watching a beautiful dance taking place right in front of my eyes. And when we go upstairs so Morgan can show us the nursery, that’s when Rosa really swoons and shines.

“This home is perfect to raise a family. A large one at that,” Tracy adds when she sees how in love with the room Rosa is. “Are you expecting?”

“I’m not sure yet. But hopefully I will be soon,” Rosa explains, still eyeing the room like it’s some fairytale wonderland she just stepped inside.

“How about I leave you and your husband for a few minutes so you can fully appreciate the room? Maybe even talk about making that offer we discussed earlier?” Morgan adds shamelessly.

After the infuriating woman leaves us alone, I stare at my brother’s wife, wondering if my suspicions about her wanting a baby so bad are on the mark.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She hums absentmindedly, enthralled with her surroundings as if picturing in her mind where she would put the crib or bassinet. I bet she even has the color scheme down to a T.

“Why do you want a baby so bad? I mean, is this degradation Tiernan is putting you through really worth it?”

She chews on my question and then breathes out a yes.

“Why?”

“You want the truth?”

I nod.

“At first I thought a baby would be the ticket to my freedom. That maybe by having a child, I would gain Tiernan’s respect. That he would allow me to live in a home like this one to raise his children and let me have a life of my own without too much of his interference or presence.”

She sighs.

“But I was lying to myself, Shay. I now know the real reason why I want a baby so much. I need love in my life. Unconditional and pure,” she explains, looking straight at me, ensuring she kills me with the sadness mixed with hope in her eyes.

“When I left my home to move here, I knew all that was waiting for me was a life full of hatred and resentment. I can’t live like that, Shay. I need to love something, someone, and be loved in return. Having a baby from my body, from my blood, will ensure that at least I’ll have one pure thing in my life. Someone I can be totally devoted to, and who, in turn, will love me back with all their heart. The closest I’ve ever come to that type of love was the affection I felt for my baby brother, Francesco.”

“If you think a baby is the answer to your loneliness, you’re wrong.”

“Not to my loneliness. But to my aching heart. My baby will be a vessel to receive all the love I have to give. And I have so much of it inside me, Shay. So much. It’s almost stifling how much of it I have dwelling inside my chest, begging to be set free.”

“I can see that.”

She lowers her gaze from mine, embarrassed by her confession. As if it’s completely mortifying to admit she needs love in her marriage to a man who has spent most of his with blood pouring down his hands—if it was even possible a man like me could relate to or even fathom such a need.

But I understand perfectly.

Until her, I might not have known the first thing about love, but the more time I spend with her, the more I begin to have a sense of the feeling. And it’s not just because I want to play with her body until she screams out my name. It’s also because the small insights she’s given me into her heart threaten the sanity of my own.

I eat up the small distance between us, pick up her chin with my knuckles, and stare into her eyes.

“You can love me, petal,” I hear myself say, shocked that I mean every word.

Her eyelashes flutter a mile a minute, not knowing what to say. But before she has time to say anything, I press my lips against hers in the chastest kiss I can muster.

“You can love me. And if you want, I can love you right back.”

Her gaze remains on me as her shallow breathing kisses my cheeks.

We just stand there, staring at one another, unsure of what to say next.